


Come Into The Light

by seaofolives



Series: Rogue One First Anniversary @ Tumblr [3]
Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars: Guardians of the Whills - Greg Rucka
Genre: M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Movie(s), Pre-Rogue One
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-12
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2019-02-13 22:19:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12993732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seaofolives/pseuds/seaofolives
Summary: Chirrut offers Baze comfort.





	Come Into The Light

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Day 3 of Rogue One First Anniversary Week with the prompt light & dark!

In the darkness, there was light. 

Chirrut awoke from the emptiness of his mind, a small gasp caught at his throat when he recognized what that light was, and who. It was on fire, like a tiny bud of flame set alight in the middle of the cosmos to burn all that was black. At every second that passed, it only burned brighter, hotter. Growing. 

It felt like someone had dropped a piece of magma in his chest, and it seared him. The weight was heavy, and there was nothing he could do to douse the flame that licked at his flesh. Chirrut breathed, remembering his lessons when the Temple still existed if only to survive this ache in his heart. Everything else around him was like ink, swirling and shifting. Alive but sluggish. The fire stood out within its center, but it was a part of the darkness, the seed of it. 

Perhaps the fire was not real, and it was only him compensating for it. The Force never existed to be pared down into simple languages but being too large for their simple minds to grasp, they had no choice but to try. The light was real, that much Chirrut knew. But perhaps that light had become altered by the darkness around it. 

He counted to three, then rose, pushing his balance on his walking staff. It had been raining since the last moonrise but the weather had been showing signs of improvement. He thought about taking a shroud to cover them both with but decided, as he shuffled towards the door, that that wasn’t what they both really needed. 

The storm roared at him when he opened the door, still a considerable force that just by standing at the doorstep, he could already get wet. He didn’t move back in; with his staff between his hands, he stood in complete patience. 

Baze was there, across of him but several paces across of him. Several miles away. The darkness persisted as heavily as it had arrived, wrapping around Chirrut but choking Baze. Chirrut frowned, dipping his head, full of concern. What had he seen, Chirrut wondered? What had he done? What had he made? 

He reached out to him. The rain swallowed his hand and drenched his sleeve, and that was all. His palm was empty, for even the water slipped between his fingers. The darkness shifted, like a child twisting its feet uneasily, and would not come. 

He stretched his arm farther, but Baze had missed the message. What an idiot, Chirrut thought. His fool was being an idiot, again. That made him smile, for the man was both changed and unchanged. 

At long last, the darkness gave—just a little but Chirrut would take it. Baze still refused to move out of the rain, and that made him want to laugh. _Do you love the rain more than me now?_ he wanted to ask but he knew that wasn’t what Baze needed. What he needed was absolution. And tenderness. 

Chirrut could only give one of them, but what little he could give, he would give all of. “Come into the light,” he called. 

Like a spear that pierced the void, brilliance blossomed and devoured the shadows. A great supernova. The weight was gone, and Chirrut felt free, free to breathe. He felt as if an inner pressure had been released from his ears when he finally heard Baze’s footsteps approaching. He opened his arms. 

Baze took him into his, pulling him so that they were length to length, and nearly inseparable. He buried his face in Chirrut’s shoulder, breathed in his scent, while Chirrut embraced him, running his fingers in his bound, damp hair. He smelled of sand, and metal and blaster fire. 

Baze crushed him in his arms, but he only nodded in understanding. He would wait until Baze had tired of the weight he was carrying. 

And then Chirrut would ask to carry it with him


End file.
